Kyla Merwin Cheney's blog

Have you noticed any blogs or web pages recently that have a Facebook LIKE button on the bottom?

So, I decided to take a page out of Pippin's playbook, and roust around in the backyard this holiday weekend, rain or shine.

My dog cracks me up. I’ve spoiled him past the point of dog-hood. Pip is no man’s dog. He is a couch potato, a snuggle bunny, a friend of the coyotes.

"Invictus" is a short Victorian poem by the English poet William Ernest Henley (1849–1903). From Latin, it means: unconquerable, undefeated.

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance

They called her Ma Mère. She was French and tiny, fragile - at first - in the flat, dry landscapes of eastern Montana. Where the wind never ever stopped blowing. Where she could look across the muted landscapes of wheat and sky and see nothing, forever. Her life would be set – laid out in front of her, day by day – like the long table in her kitchen: each plate, cup and tine set in perfect order.